Flashback
by 88Ivories
Summary: Continued by request: E/O Challenge word: warm. Some things remind you of the worst times when you least expect it. Set early Season 4, after Heaven and Hell.
1. Panic

**E/O Drabble Challenge word: warm  
Spoilers/Notes: Happy Birthday supernaturalmydreams! Here's Dean with a panic attack and Sam to the rescue for you. Implied season 4 spoilers, but nothing specific.  
Word count: 100.  
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Flashback**

Dean didn't know if it was the heat that brought it on, but the tightness in his chest wasn't from the fire in front of him, but from deep inside, a place he tried to keep locked up since returning topside.

Not this time, though.

His head spun and he dropped to his knees, trying to slow the breaths that caused his shoulders to heave and his hands to shake.

Against the cold sweat on his back, Dean felt warm hands grip his shoulders. He mouthed "I'm fine."

Sam's whisper in his ear brought him back. "You're safe here. Just breathe."


	2. Avoidance

**A/N: Someone suggested I continue this (Thanks for that nice thought by the way! Never was asked that before!), and so since the idea got into my brain I decided, sure, let's see where it goes.**

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Against his better judgment, Dean didn't immediately shake Sam off him. He listened to the words, shut his eyes, and focused on getting air into his lungs. After about a minute, the lightheaded sensation was passing and Dean pushed himself back up to his feet.

Sam took just a step back as Dean got up. Dean didn't want to look at him. He shrugged and nodded toward the car. "I'm going to pack her up." Dean didn't need to turn around to know that Sam's eyes followed him all the way to the car.

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It had actually been over two months since he was pulled back from Hell, but this problem started just a few days ago, after his reunion with Alastair. This particular incident was the third time in less than a week.

Mercifully, Sam missed the first one. Dean was watching late night infomercials while Sam slept. Dean shuddered even at the fleeting memory of the glinting knives that the woman on the screen was trying to sell him. He just barely was able to grip the remote hard enough to press the power button.

The second time was just two days later and in public. They were at a local bar that turned out to be for more of a younger crowd than expected, and at midnight they started playing some kind of dance music and started a red and orange strobe light. It was definitely the flashes of light bouncing off the reflective surfaces and hitting Dean's eyes like lightening. Dean remembered seeing the lights and feeling the tightness across his chest and beads of sweat on his forehead. Then there was just a blur of noise and bodies until he found himself outside sitting next to the building. Sam later told Dean that he dropped his beer and went white as a sheet. Sam asked what happened.

"Too hot in there." Sam was not convinced.

"I grabbed your arm, it was cold and clammy."

Dean just shrugged and stood up. Mumbled something about freakin' college students and tossed Sam the keys. Sam looked at him every thirty seconds for the rest of the evening, but didn't ask. Good thing. Dean didn't want to talk about it.

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Dean finally got up the nerve to look over to where he left Sam. Sam was busy cleaning up and returning the dirt to the now charred bones. He was damn certain that Sam was going to want to talk this time. No way. Even thinking about the things that went on down there sent shivers down Dean's spine and made his heart begin to race. Dean looked up again and Sam was heading back, shovel in hand. Dean reached for his flask and tipped it up swallowing a large mouthful of cheap whiskey. He felt it burn down the back of his throat. He liked the cheap stuff. The taste was distracting. He repeated the swallow. Felt the hint of clouding in his mind and the slight relaxation of the muscles in his neck.

It only lasted a moment before Sam's looming presence was beside him.

Ah, time for Dean's favorite game: avoid the inevitable "talk"

First thing, first: Dean emptied his flask with one final swallow.

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**A/N: So, where to from here? Let me know what you think, keep going?**


	3. Discussion or lack thereof

Sam drove silently for a while. For a fleeting moment, Dean thought he might get away without the obligatory "What was up with that?"

He was wrong.

"We should talk about these panic attacks." Sam wasted no time getting to the point. Dean had made it a lifelong habit to avoid points, of all kinds.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Wind gust blew some of the smoke right into my lungs. I'm just fine."

"There was no wind tonight and that doesn't explain the other night in the bar."

Dean's jaw tightened and he pursed his lips. _Damnit, Sam is too smart for his own good sometimes._

Dean's response was curt. "I told you. It was hot."

"I looked it up you know. After that night. Hyperventilating, sweating, chills, disorientation. All symptoms of panic attacks which are common with post-traumatic stress."

Dean really regretted finishing up the whiskey before getting in the car. Sam just continued.

"These things don't just go away. You have to deal with it, Dean."

"I didn't have a panic attack." Dean looked straight ahead out the window, avoiding Sam's pleading, worried eyes that continued glancing in his direction. He knew that he was lying to his brother, but this wasn't Sam's problem. Sam didn't spend thirty years on a rack being pulled apart every day. Sam couldn't understand. No one could. This was Dean's problem, and Sam needed to shut his fucking cakehole.

Almost as if Sam heard him, silence ensued the remainder of the ride to the motel. Although, Dean was certain that Sam was not done yet.

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**A/N: I know this part was short, but the next part of the story is coming from Sam's point of view and so I wanted a separate chapter. Not sure when that will be done because I have an all day interview tomorrow, ack. Thanks again!**


	4. Denial

**A/N: Apparently writing is a good job-interview-tomorrow stress buster, because here's another chapter! I will be really busy tomorrow though, so I'm aiming for the end of the week on the next one ... although I think I've left you guys in a good spot ... hehe.**

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Sam knew that Dean had been … different since he came back from Hell, but something about it seemed to have intensified since running into Alastair and after Dean had made his confession. Sam knew that he couldn't even begin to imagine what Dean went through down there, and to know that it was forty years. Sam could barely stand surviving for the four _months _he did without Dean. Forty years? God knows that anyone would have broken, and probably much earlier than Dean did. Sam knew that didn't matter to Dean. The only thing that mattered to him was that he did break, and the guilt that continued to haunt Dean was apparent to Sam no matter how hard Dean tried to hide it.

Dean had to be losing some kind of battle with himself though to succumb to the recent panic attacks. Sam was torn. He didn't know how he could help his brother, how anyone could help him. He knew something had to be done though. They weren't going to be an effective team if Sam had to worry that Dean might hyperventilate and collapse the next time they fought a demon. Not that the teamwork was quite the same as it had been before. Sam had become a very effective hunter on his own, and it was harder than he expected to fall back into the two-man hunt. Dean being a little bit off wasn't helping. Still, Sam knew that something had to be done, now.

He pulled the car into the motel parking lot. Dean got out almost before Sam had put the car in park and beelined his way to the door. Sam hung back for a second watching his brother from the driver's seat of Dean's beloved car. Dean had been letting Sam drive a lot in past few days. _Yeah. This is bad. This is really bad._

Determined, Sam headed for the motel room.

He found Dean about where he expected him, on the bed, bottle of whiskey in one hand and remote control in the other. Well, at least Sam knew how to get Dean's attention.

He stood between Dean and the television.

"What the fuck, sasquatch? Get out of the way."

"I know you don't like this kind of thing, but we have to deal with this Dean, and drinking is probably only going to make it worse."

Dean's eyes were shooting daggers at Sam and he muttered just loud enough to hear, "Can't possibly make it any worse."

Sam sighed. He put his hands on his hips, and then realized how that posture probably wouldn't help and dropped them to his side again. "You've been lucky so far, but what if you were to have a panic attack in the middle of a hunt or the middle of a fight?"

Dean tipped up his whiskey in a long drink and continued to stare at his brother. Sam tried a slightly different tactic. "I'm worrying about my own ass here, too, you know. I can't be sure you've got my back if I'm worried about you collapsing."

Dean got up out of the bed. He raised his eyebrows at Sam as he circled around toward him. "So don't worry about it, because nothing happened, and nothing is going to happen."

Dean walked right past Sam, and just as he pushed past him he stopped and pointed his bottle as Sam's face. "I am fine. I will be fine. And I'll be even better once you stop poking your know-it-all head into my business."

Dean disappeared into the bathroom. Sam took in a deep breath and clenched his fists tight as he felt tears spring to the back of his eyes. He absolutely hated it when Dean pushed him away like that. Especially when he knows that Dean needs help. Dean's continued, angry denials only reinforced to Sam exactly how bad this was. Dean's usual lies were typically more easy going. Sam knew he couldn't let this go. Not without exhausting every possible option. He swallowed hard, took another deep breath and headed toward the tiny bathroom.

Dean was splashing water onto his face. Sam thought that perhaps he looked a little pale again. Dean didn't look up but he noticed Sam's presence. "What part of leave me the fuck alone do I have to spell out for you?"

Sam ran his fingers through his hair and leaned against the doorway. "You don't have to do this, Dean."

Head still down, Sam heard Dean's voice very quietly. "Yes, I do." He suddenly looked up and his eyes were wide and almost, wild. "Yes, I do."

Dean raised his whiskey bottle and swung in the direction of Sam's head.


	5. Violence

Sam thanked all his years of training that his dodging reflexes were superb, and it didn't hurt that Dean was still moderately affected by the alcohol. Sam quickly ducked out of the way and stepped back from the bathroom.

"Dude! What are you doing?"

Dean glared at Sam and started walking toward him. "You thought I couldn't do it, huh? You thought I would just stay up on this rack forever? Well, you know what? It turns out that I'm not the good boy everybody thought I was, huh?"

Shit. Suddenly, it was Sam's turn to panic. Dean clearly didn't realize where he was or that it was Sam in front of him. He swung at Sam again, and Sam ducked away from the wall and moved toward the beds. At least they would land on something soft, right?

"Dean, hey listen. It's me, Sam. Your brother? Remember me?"

Dean cracked an odd looking grin and snickered. "No tricks this time, Alastair. I know what it takes, and I'll earn it. Earn my time down here."

Dean dropped his bottle and grabbed at Sam with both hands. Sam let him grab hold of his arms, figuring maybe he could hold him down somehow, snap him out of this. Sam knew he was stronger than Dean, especially nowadays.

They wrestled for a moment, falling sideways onto one of the beds. Sam managed to keep Dean at about half an arms length as they struggled. He manuevered himself on top of Dean and with a hard push separated himself from his brother's grasp shoving Dean back against the bed with a thump.

Sam quickly moved out from between the beds and away toward the door, hoping Dean would snap out of it. He leaned his hands down on to his thighs for a moment trying to catch his breath and plan his next move while Dean was down. He rubbed one hand over his upper arm and felt small, increasingly stinging bumps where Dean's nails had dug into his skin. What the fuck was happening to his brother?

Dean wasn't down long and he took just a moment to counter the slight daze before determining Sam's current location.

"Dean! Stop!" Sam shouted standing back up, but Dean had gotten to him quickly. Dean pushed one hand into Sam's shoulder slamming him up against the wall next to the door. The picture hanging on the wall clattered to the floor and the glass shattered between the wall and the short dresser in front of it.

Sam tried to grasp at Dean, but Dean leaned up against him and pushed his thumb and index finger up around Sam's windpipe. Sam missed his chance to gasp in a breath and his eyes began to water as the near-choke hold deprived him of oxygen.

Sam unsuccessfully tried to wriggle free from Dean's grasp. He knew that a certain grip, turn, and snap would break him free, but it would also likely break Dean's arms and send his head flying into the wall. Even after the last few minutes of this brawl, Sam couldn't bring himself to really hurt Dean.

The liquid pooling in his eyes began to leak out the edges as Sam blinked and tried to focus on Dean's eyes. Their typical sparkle was gone, giving them an almost gray edge, like the water in a muddy swamp. Sam was able to keep enough pressure on Dean to let in enough oxygen to remain conscious. He even scraped out a whisper, "Dean. Please. Stop."

Suddenly, the force against Sam's throat eased. He blinked again and this time the green eyes looking back at him seemed confused, startled, like a deer in headlights. Dean let go entirely and stumbled three steps back glancing around him.

"I'm ... I ..." Dean stuttered staring at Sam still up against the wall. "Fuck!" Dean shouted and bolted out the door.

Sam sunk to the floor allowing his head to fall into his hands as his racing heart finally began to slow. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the wave of nausea to pass as the adrenaline slowly dissolved and Sam's ability to function returned.

As soon as he was able to pull himself back to his feet, Sam rushed out the door to catch up to his brother.


	6. Escape

Dean was in a daze. He had been in the motel room with Sam, trying to avoid his brother's concern and help. He remembered that clearly, but the next few moments seemed like a blur or a memory that didn't belong to him. It was as if he stepped out of his body and watched himself slip back into the darkness of hell, only it was inside his own mind. Sam disappeared and instead he saw the nameless victim on the rack. Alastair standing beside watching, taunting Dean to do it, to torture his very first victim. Dean remembered all too well. Remembered the turmoil, the fear, and finally the realization that this would be the end of the pain for him. So he did it. He did it, and part of him enjoyed it, and the other part was sickened. He had put that part away. Closed it into a drawer and locked it up. It made the rest easy.

Until he returned that was. Suddenly, the two parts or him were flip-flopped. He had to quickly lock the torturer in the drawer and let out the real, human part that was Dean. The last few minutes though had undone the careful exchange, broken the lock, and allowed the crazed maniac that Dean wished would go away forever loose. Not only that, he was let loose on Sam. The one person in the world that Dean would never, ever have wanted to see him like that.

So Dean ran. He left the motel room and ran down the block. He didn't get far before his chest began to constrict again and his vision to blur. He slowed to a walk as he gasped for air.

_No. Not again. Not here._

He tried to focus. Tried to break the cycle, count his breaths in and out like the website said. Sam wasn't the only one looking up panic attacks on the internet. It wasn't working. The dizziness was getting worse and his chest was so tight that he couldn't walk any longer. He came up to a tree and put one hand against it leaning over, trying to get the oxygen to flow back to his brain. He sunk down beside the tree onto his knees, struggling to maintain consciousness.

How could he have done that to Sammy? His Sammy? Nothing can excuse this. How could Sam ever forgive him? How could he ever trust Dean again?

He had to explain, but how? How could Sam ever begin to understand?

Dean wanted to scream, to cry out, to ask "Why me?" to the heavens and Angels that brought him back. Why did Castiel return him to this world? This world where he can remember right from wrong and this world where the guilt from everything he did is slowly tearing him apart. They should have just left him there. He didn't deserve to be saved and he sure as shit didn't deserve to be anywhere near Sam.

Dean tried to shout, to put a voice to this pain, but all that came out was a whisper.

"I didn't want to. I never ..."

As his breath caught in his throat and the dizziness returned a strong hand gripped his shoulder and Sam's voice sounded in his ear.

"Dean? Didn't want to what?"

Dean felt the relief wash over him for a moment, just before the next wave of panic.


	7. Talking

After Dean caught his breath again, he sat back, leaning against the tree. He rested his arms against his knees and looked down, still focusing on making sure that oxygen was finding its way to his brain and avoiding Sam's eyes.

Sam sat down beside him just close enough so that his arm brushed against Dean's, but only the slightest bit. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them looking out and away.

"Funny thing about hyperventilating," Sam began speaking out to empty street. "It's not actually a lack of oxygen. It's too much, which drops the levels of carbon dioxide and confuses your brain into constricting blood flow."

Dean remained quiet. Sam did that when he was nervous. Broke out the facts from the encyclopedic recesses of his mind. It pretty much meant that he had absolutely no idea how to help Dean right now. Well, Dean had no ideas either.

For a moment, there was silence. The street was empty. It was simultaneously too late and too early for anyone to be out and about. Something quietly darted across the street nearby, probably a cat. Dean broke the silence with a sigh, and then began talking.

"You have no idea what it was like down there. I mean, believe me, I understand how people become demons now, no question. It was like being in some kind of fucked up nightmare where you can't wake up and I don't want to remember it but can't fucking seem to forget. Man, if somebody could just pluck that piece of my brain out, I'd let them do it in an instant, because when I think about it I hate myself for what happened ..." He paused and took in a slow breath. "For what I did."

Dean's chin started to tremble as tears filled his eyes. "I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I never wanted to hurt anyone. Especially you." The last two words were nearly a whisper as tears streaked down both sides of Dean's face, and he hugged his knees together tightly and looked up toward the sky.

"I know, Dean." Sam said quietly. "I can't know what it was like for you, but I know you, and I know that you can't keep hating yourself for what happened in Hell. I mean, it was Hell. Anyway, you aren't going back there. The angels pulled you out for a reason, and even if they don't care anymore, I wouldn't let you go back, so you know, you should try and forgive yourself."

Dean chuckled, pushed his lips together, and wiped his face with one hand. "Yeah, I wish it were that easy."

"Hey." Sam turned to look at his brother. "I forgive you."

Dean allowed himself to turn toward Sam.

"Thanks." Dean looked at his brother for a moment.

Funny. Sam had grown so much in the four months Dean was gone, and yet when he looked at Dean now, Dean could still see his frightened little brother, mustering up whatever he could to stay composed in the face of his big brother's breakdown.

Dean looked away again. He knew that he couldn't let this go on: the haphazard memories, the panic attacks. He had to regain control of his life. For his sake and for Sam's.

"Listen, Sam. I know I've been kind of ignoring this problem, but I can't do that anymore, so I'm going to deal with it, okay? But I've got to do it my way. It's not like I can talk to anyone who isn't going to think I'm crazy anyway."

Sam looked worried and gave his brother a dubious frown. "What are you going to do?"

"Hey! You aren't the only one who can read some websites about post-traumatic stress whatever, okay. I can find a way." His eyes turned up at Sam again, and he put on his most convincing big-brother-knows-best voice. "Trust me. I got this."

Sam still had that concerned look about him. But he nodded at Dean. "Okay. You got this."

Dean pulled himself to his feet. "Now, let's get back to the motel before this becomes a lifetime movie of the week moment."

Sam let out a short laugh and got up to follow Dean back to the motel. He didn't say another word about it that night or the next day. Dean knew it was over. This time it was really over.

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**A/N: Dean's not quite correct. This is close to over, but there will be an epilogue, so watch for it!**


	8. Back to Reality

Dean stood in the motel room. Sam had checked his beeping phone and run off somewhere. Dean didn't expect to see him again for a while. Good. That was part of the plan.

He had sat on the computer after waking up supposedly looking up how to deal with panic attacks. Bullshit. _Talk therapy?_ What was that crap. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to bury that torturing son-of-a-bitch for good. He knew the best way to do that: tequila. Lots of tequila and some time to himself. He already knew where the hole was, and he intended to throw that fucker and his panic attacks down it. Who needs that part of their soul anyway?

There were some things that Sam just never needed to know. He took out the bottle and got started. This time it really would be over.  


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"And you ignore your phone for nearly a whole day why?" Ruby's shrill question was clearly solely to annoy Sam since he knew she could just read his mind.

"I can't just leave Dean like that. He is still my brother." Sam sat down on a dingy bed. Ruby sighed and came over to sit next to him.

"Okay." She said, more gently this time. "You're more worried than usual. Why?"

Sam wrung his hands and looked down at the floor. "Dean's just so different since ... you know. I mean, I thought he was getting back in the swing of things, and then this. I just ..." Sam sighed. "I don't know if I can trust him on a hunt. I don't know if he can handle this anymore. He's not the decisive, forceful, fuck-shit-up Dean that I remember."

He turned and looked at Ruby. "I don't think he's strong enough for this anymore."

She looked back at Sam. "All the more reason to keep training."

Sam knew that she was right.

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**FIN.**

**A/N: And that should take us back to continuity between Heaven and Hell and Family Remains, more or less. Thanks so much to everybody who read, reviewed, and alerted my story! I've never had people like my stuff so much! :::smishes you all!!:::  
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